英语小散文50篇

英语精美的散文（通用5篇）

在生活、工作和学习中，大家都写过散文吗？散文的宗旨是文笔一定要优美，文章一定要流畅。“形散而神不散”。如何写一篇“形散而神不散”的散文呢？下面是整理的英语精美的.散文，仅供参考，大家一起来看看吧。

英语精美的散文 篇1

Touch Me is a soliloquy(独白)compod by Hank Miller, about the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. also known as “The Wall”. This monument is one of the most visited sites in the city of Washington.

-----By Hank Miller

(California professional photographer, freelance writer, former Naval Aviator, and a Vietnam veteran)

Touch me. Don’t be afraid. I can’t hurt you. Go ahead and touch my smooth surface. Feel the cold, glass-like smoothness and the crevices and lines that make me what I am. U both hands if you wish. We are more similar than you dare to believe.

Touch my face. Yes, I have a face like yours. It has weathered the centuries as yours has the years. My face portrays my evolution. Yours, the birth and death of a generation. My face has aged like yours as we have endured together the testimony of earth elements.

I have eyes like yours. My inscriptions stare out at you as I arch for the meaning of why we are here. I look into your eyes and e who you are. Who am I? I was formed millions of years past and now you e the results of my evolution.

I can feel your hands and the sweat from your palms flow into the countless combination of the letters that make me. I know you. I have known you since I was able to breathe in the air as my smoothness began to take shape and my color matured along with natural flaws. You have known me since the days when you came to take me from my mother.

You cannot hear me. I am static and unmoving. But, I can hear your murmurs and your cries of pain and sadness. Your sons and daughters ask why? There are no answers. I am very old. I have en everything and I am none the wir for the pain and suffering and I have witnesd since I ro from the bowels of the earth. I have witnesd the conflict, the death, the civilizations, and the societies that have come before you. Yet I remain mystified about this day.

I feel sad yet alive with a purpo. I have come to know tho who are now an integral part of the reason for my being here at this place and time. That purpo has become apparent as I stand before you on this day while your brethren gather to witness my reflections and the changes of light that mirror your soul.

I am a reflection of you…

I am all of you…

I am your spirit..

I am The Wall.

英语精美的散文 篇2

Sometimes I have thought it would be an excellent rule to live each day as if we should die tomorrow. Such an attitude would emphasize sharply the values of life. We should live each day with a gentleness, a vigor, and a keenness of appreciation which are often lost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to come. There are tho, of cour, who would adopt the epicurean motto of “Eat, drink, and be merry,” most people would be chastened by the certainty of impending death.

Most of us take life for granted. We know that one day we must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future, when we are in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginable. We ldom think of it. The days stretch out in an endless vista. So we go about our petty task, hardly aware of our listless attitude towards life.

The same lethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the u of our faculties and ns. Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize the manifold blessings that lie in sight. Particularly does this obrvation apply to tho who have lost sight and hearing in adult life. But tho who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing ldom make the fullest u of the blesd faculties. Their eyes and ears take in all sights and sound hazily, without concentration, and with little appreciation. It is the same old story of not being grateful for what we conscious of health until we are ill.

I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life. Darkness would make him more appreciative of sight; silence would teach him the joys of sound.

Now and then I have tested my eing friends to discover what they e. Recently I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had obrved. “Nothing in particular,” she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such respons, for long ago I became convinced that the eing e little.

How was it possible, I asked mylf, to walk for an hour through the woods and e nothing worthy of note? I who cannot e find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough shaggy bark of a pine. In spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in arch of a bud, the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter’s sleep I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently in a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have cool waters of a brook rush through my open fingers. To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the pageant of asons is a thrilling and unending drama, the action of which streams through my finger tips. At times my heart cries out with longing to e all the things. If I can get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight. Yet, tho who have eyes apparently e little. The panorama of color and action fill the world is taken for granted. It is human, perhaps, to appreciate little that which we have and to long for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the world of light and the gift of sight is ud only as mere convenience rather that as a means of adding fullness to life.

Oh, the things that I should e if I had the power of sight for three days!

英语精美的散文 篇3

One day, an expert in time management was speaking to a group of students and, to drive home a point, ud an illustration tho students will never forget.

As he stood in front of the group of overachievers he said, "OK, time for a quiz." He pulled out a one-gallon, wide-mouth jar and t it on the table in front of him. He also produced about a dozen fist-sized rocks and carefully placed them, one at a time, into the jar. When the jar was filled to the top and no more rocks would fit inside, he asked, "Is this jar full?"

Everyone in the class yelled, "Yes." The time management expert replied, "Really?" He reached under the table and pulled out a bucket of gravel. He dumped some gravel in and shook the jar, causing pieces of gravel to work themlves down into the spaces between the big rocks. He then asked the group once more, "Is this jar full?"

By this time the class was on to him. "Probably not," one of them answered. "Good!" he replied. He reached under the table and brought out a bucket of sand. He started dumping the sand in the jar and it went into all of the spaces left between the rocks and the gravel. Once more he asked the question, "Is this jar full?"

"No!" the class shouted. Once again he said, "Good." Then he grabbed a pitcher of water and began to pour it in until the jar was filled to the brim. Then he looked at the class and asked, "What is the point of this illustration?" One eager student raid his hand and said, "The point is, no matter how full your schedule is, if you try really hard you can always fit some more things in it!"

"No," the speaker replied, "that‘s not the point. The truth this illustration teaches us is if you don‘t put the big rocks in first, you‘ll never get them in at all. What are the ‘big rocks‘ in your life? Time with your loved ones, your education, your dreams, a worthy cau, teaching or mentoring others? Remember to put the big rocks in first or you‘ll never get them in at all."

英语精美的散文 篇4

My grandfather died when I was a small boy, and my grandmother started staying with us for about six months every year. She lived in a room that doubled as my father‘s office, which we referred to as "the back room." She carried with her a powerful aroma. I don‘t know what kind of perfume she ud, but it was the double-barreled, ninety-proof, knockdown, render-the-victim-unconscious, moo-killing variety. She kept it in a huge atomizer and applied it frequently and liberally. It was almost impossible to go into her room and remain breathing for any length of time. When she would leave the hou to go spend six months with my Aunt Lillian, my mother and sisters would throw open all the windows, strip the bed, and take out the curtains and rugs. Then they would spend veral days washing and airing things out, trying frantically to make the pungent odor go away.

This, then, was my grandmother at the time of the infamous pea incident.

It took place at the Biltmore Hotel, which, to my eight-year-old mind, was just about the fancies place to eat in all of Providence. My grandmother, my mother, and I were having lunch after a morning spent shopping. I grandly ordered a salisbury steak, confident in the knowledge that beneath that fancy name was a good old hamburger with gravy. When brought to the table, it was accompanied by a plate of peas.

I do not like peas now. I did not like peas then. I have always hated peas. It is a complete mystery to me why anyone would voluntarily eat peas. I did not eat them at home. I did not eat them at restaurants. And I certainly was not about to eat them now.

"Eat your peas," my grandmother said.

"Mother," said my mother in her warning voice. "He doesn‘t like peas. Leave him alone."

“My grandmother did not reply, but there was a glint in her eye and a grim t to her jaw that signaled she was not going to be 14)thwarted. She leaned in my direction, looked me in the eye, and uttered the fateful words that changed my life: "I‘ll pay you five dollars if you eat tho peas."

I had absolutely no idea of the impending doom. I only knew that five dollars was an enormous, nearly unimaginable amount of money, and as awful as peas were, only one plate of them stood between me and the posssion of that five dollars. I began to force the wretched things down my throat.

My mother was livid. My grandmother had that lf-satisfied look of someone who has thrown down an unbeatable trump card. "I can do what I want, Ellen, and you can‘t stop me." My mother glared at her mother. She glared at me. No one can glare like my mother. If there were a glaring Olympics, she would undoubtedly win the gold medal.

I, of cour, kept shoving peas down my throat. The glares made me nervous, and every single pea made me want to throw up, but the magical image of that five dollars floated before me, and I finally gagged down every last one of them. My grandmother handed me the five dollars with a flourish. My mother continued to glare in silence. And the episode ended. Or so I thought.

My grandmother left for Aunt Lillian‘s a few weeks later. That night, at dinner, my mother rved two of my all-time favorite foods, meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Along with them came a big, steaming bowl of peas. She offered me some peas, and I, in the very last moments of my innocent youth, declined. My mother fixed me with a cold eye as she heaped a huge pile of peas onto my plate. Then came the words that were to haunt me for years.

"You ate them for money," she said. "You can eat them for love."

Oh, despair! Oh, devastation! Now, too late, came the dawning realization that I had unwittingly damned mylf to a hell from which there was no escape.

"You ate them for money. You can eat them for love."

What possible argument could I muster against that? There was none. Did I eat the peas? You bet I did. I ate them that day and every other time they were rved thereafter. The five dollars were quickly spent. My grandmother pasd away a few years later. But the legacy of the peas lived on, as it lives on to this day. If I so much as curl my lip when they are rved (becau, after all, I still hate the horrid little things), my mother repeats the dreaded words one more time: "You ate them for money," she says. "You can eat them for love."

英语精美的散文 篇5

An ancient Hebraic text says:" love is as strong as death". It ems that not everyone experiences this kind of strong love. The increasing probably,crime and war tells us that the world is in indispensable need of true love. But what is true love?

Love is something we all need.But how do we know when we experience it?

True love is best en as the promotion and action, not an emotion. Love is not exclusively bad how we feel.Certainly our emotions are involved.But they cannot be our only criteria for love.True love is when you care enough about another person that you will lay down your life for them. When this happens,then love truly is as strong as death.How many of you have a mother, or father,husband or wife,son or daughter or friend who would sacrifice his or her own life on yours? Tho of you who truly love your spells but unchildren, would unlfishly lay your life on the line to save them from death? Many people in an emergency room with their loved ones and prayed"plea, God,take me instead of them".Find true love and be a true lover as well.May you find a love which is not only strong as death, but to leave to a truly for feeling life.